


Gracious, What a Scandal

by howler32557038



Series: The Simple Life [3]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Babbling, Babies are Gross Sometimes, Fluff, Humor, Kid Fic, Lincoln is Learning to Talk, M/M, Male Lactation, Mpreg, Nursing, One Shot, Parenthood, Post Mpreg, Post-The Simple Life, Series, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, but that's okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-05 03:12:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15161258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/howler32557038/pseuds/howler32557038
Summary: Bucky has a winter morning alone with his son. A bath in the kitchen sink leads to splashing, and splashing leads to singing.





	Gracious, What a Scandal

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tkall](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tkall/gifts).



> Happy Independence Day! In celebration of Steve's birthday, here's a one-shot to tide you over while I wrap up the next chapter of [Something Good Can Work.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14630541)
> 
> After receiving a few asks and talking to commenters, I discovered there's more of a demand than I thought there was for the mushy-gushy-fluffy bits of the story, free of plot, drama, angst, or intrigue. So, here you go! 100% certifiable junk food. Just the cute parts.
> 
> Love you guys! <3

** December 9th, 2017 **

 

Bucky had heard Steve’s alarm at 0600, but he had ignored it. Steve had a meeting to go to, but Bucky...Bucky could sleep in. And he plans to do exactly that, for as long as he can.

There had been a snow storm last night. The wind had blown relentlessly, and Lincoln had fussed and whined over it for hours. Bucky had stayed up and walked with him, bounced him, nursed him, until he’d finally fallen into a deep sleep that would last the remainder of the night.

An hour and a half later, at 0730, Bucky finally drags himself out of bed. He can hear Lincoln shifting around in his crib already, so he must be awake. If he can feed him before he starts getting grumpy, he knows his morning will go a little more smoothly.

He peeks through the open door to the nursery, just to see what Lincoln’s up to, and finds him sitting up on his knees, bouncing. There’s a soft toy attached to the side of his crib - a colorful mat with pockets, where quilted cloth toys on strings can be tucked away. He’s taken all of them out of their respective pockets - the smiling sun, the sleepy moon, the apple, the beach ball, the car, the house, the cat, the dog, and the goldfish - and they’re all dangling by their soft strings, jumping and tangling together as he slaps at them. The sun gets caught on his hand, and as he struggles with it, it falls halfway back into its pocket. Lincoln makes a soft, concerned noise, sits up a little straighter, and digs for it. When he pulls it back out, he coos and studies it carefully, as if he’s thinking,  _ Yep, that’s the happy little sun that I misplaced. Thank goodness I got him back safely. _

Bucky taps his fingers on the door frame to get his son’s attention. “Hi, Lincoln.”

Lincoln chirps with surprise, turns to look at him, then screeches noisily, holding up the squishy fabric sun for him to see. Bucky flips on the light. “That’s right, baby boy, sun’s up. Good morning.” And Lincoln babbles back at him, almost as if he’s telling him the story of how he’d rescued his toy from its pocket.

Bucky scoops him up out of the crib. “You’re in a good mood today, aren’t you?” Lincoln squirms against him in reply, slapping at his chin with a wet hand until he realizes there are more important things to grab for, like the collar of Bucky’s t-shirt. His eyes are wide and intent now, not sleepy at all, and he makes the most hilarious low  _ mm-mm _ noise, grunting and growling as he tries to tip himself over in Bucky’s arms to get a little closer to his breakfast.

“You are a  _ garbage disposal,” _ Bucky informs him, getting a rag for his shoulder. He opens up the curtain and raises the blinds, and Lincoln is momentarily distracted by the sight of the Facility’s expansive grounds and the trees beyond, all stark white and blanketed in thick snow. A few flurries are still drifting through the freezing air, but the wind has died down now, and everything looks fresh and gentle. “How about all that snow? What do we think about that?”

It holds Lincoln’s attention for several seconds, but then he turns his head back toward Bucky’s chest, and the  _ mm-mm _ sounds are more aggressive and demanding now. “Okay,” Bucky concedes. “I hear you. Food first,  _ then _ we’ll talk about the weather.”

Bucky rucks up his shirt and sits down in the rocking chair, patting his son’s bottom rhythmically as he nurses, caressing the soft flannel of his onesie with his good hand. Lincoln remains alert despite the impressive amount that he eats, but all the rocking and patting nearly puts Bucky back to sleep.

He’s just on the edge of dozing when a pretty goddamn  _ ungodly _ noise startles him back to high-alert.

The spot he had been patting suddenly feels a little too warm. He stares down at his baby in harsh judgment. His threatening gaze is met only with defiant, throaty giggles.

“Lincoln Samuel,” he groans. “That sounded like a  _ diesel  _ engine.”

He  _ wishes _ it smelled like a diesel engine, too.  _ Anything _ would be better than this. He unsnaps the back of Lincoln’s onesie, but then swiftly aborts that plan.

“Oh - Jesus. No, sir.” The back of the diaper had failed miserably to contain the mess. Bucky can’t really blame the diaper, though. Lincoln had asked a little too much of it. All Bucky can do is laugh. “Oh my God, Lincoln, what have you  _ done?”  _ And Lincoln laughs shamelessly right along with him. “Hm? What did you  _ do?  _ What  _ was _ that?” Lincoln positively shouts with joy as the indictments grow louder. “That’s a  _ big _ mess.”

_ “Aaayaa.” _

“Uh-huh, good one.” Bucky stands up carefully, holding Lincoln out at arm’s length and hoping nothing drips onto the carpet. He barely gives the baby-wipes on the dresser a second’s consideration. “Yeah, you’re going in the sink, pal. Sorry.”

Bucky wipes out the kitchen sink and sets his son in one compartment, then strips him down and throws his onesie in the other. The diaper goes  _ immediately _ into the trash, and he ties the bag off, holding his breath all the while, feeling more thankful than ever that he can go so long without breathing. He gets the onesie rinsed out and Lincoln sprayed off before he dares to inhale again.

Finally, he plugs the sink and lets the water run. He’s going to let him soak, just to be  _ sure _ he’s clean.

Lincoln doesn’t acknowledge any wrongdoing on his part, just fiddles with the faucet and the stream of water, grinning and chirping.

“What is that?”

_ “Wah.” _

“Water?”

_ “Wah!” _

“Water!”

_ “Wah-ah-ah-ah-ah.”  _ Lincoln keeps going, punctuating each syllable by slapping the pool of water now collecting in the sink basin, splashing himself and Bucky along with him.

“Oh my goodness,” Bucky gushes, beaming. “You are  _ so  _ smart, Lincoln. Smartest little boy I ever laid eyes on, you know that?”

God, he loves being home alone with this kid. They have the best conversations.

_ “Nee-kah. Nee-nee-nee,” _ Lincoln shouts back.

Bucky gasps, only partially exaggerating just how impressed he is. “Lincoln.”

_ “Nee-kuh,”  _ he confirms with a little more certainty. And suddenly that’s the new phrase. He’ll be on it for at least the next ten minutes before he finds some other noise to practice on. Bucky’s almost sure he’ll be tackling full sentences by the end of January.

“What’s your name?”

_ “Nee.” _

“Is it...Stinky?”

_ “Nee.” _

“Stink-butt?”

_ “Nee..bah!” _

“Is it...Lincoln?”

“ _ Neekuh? _ ”

“Is it...Lincoln Samuel?”

_ “Nee-kah-ah-ma-ma-ma....” _

“Is it Lincoln Samuel Barnes-Rogers?” Bucky says quickly.

The  _ ma-ma-mas  _ keep going, but they don’t sound nearly as confident. His kid has one hell of a head on his shoulders, but too many syllables spoken too rapidly, and he gets overwhelmed. Bucky snorts.

Lincoln gives up on their discussion for the moment, and gets his hands on the sprayer by the backsplash. He tests it a few times in the water, then sprays himself squarely in the chest. It makes him jump. Bucky makes a surprised face, looking from the sprayer to Lincoln and back, as his son makes the connection. Within moments, he has it aimed at his open mouth, and he’s spitting out water between fits of laughter, gargling noisily all the while. Probably feels  _ wonderful _ on his poor gums, too. Bucky had felt some hard spots on them this morning, where teeth must be aching to break through.

“You’re goofy, you know that?” Bucky sighs breathlessly, practically tearful with mirth as Lincoln tries to recover from having blasted the water in his eyes. “You’re my little goofball.  _ Lincoln, don’t even think about it.” _

_ “Aa?” _

“Don’t you  _ dare.”  _ Lincoln’s not aiming the sprayer at himself anymore. He’s aiming it out of the sink, toward the kitchen floor. “No.”

_ “Aaya.”  _ And he sprays the fucking floor. Not much - just for a second. Just enough to test his papa a little bit.

Bucky doesn’t take the nozzle away, though. Lincoln needs to learn to follow instructions.  _ Especially _ ‘no.’ “Excuse me, what did I just say?”

_ “Ah.”  _ Another burst of water arcs out of the sink and splashes down onto the tile.

“I said  _ no.” _

Lincoln screams happily, and it almost sounds like a battle cry. And apparently, it is: he turns the nozzle toward Bucky and douses his shirt before Bucky can get his hand over the spout. “No, no, no, Lincoln - oh, man, you little creep! No!”

But now, he’s already wet. And as long as they’re playing in the sink and being bad, he might as well get a little wetter before they mop up. He tips his head down toward the sink basin, where Lincoln can aim at him a little better. “Here, you wanna give me some, too?” He opens his mouth, and Lincoln, now positively flushed with delight, sends a jet of water at his face. He doesn’t even mind that a good deal of the water goes right up his nose. As far as waterboardings go, it’s one of the tamer ones he’s ever been subjected to. And it makes Lincoln so happy he practically falls over. He’s laughing so hard Bucky has to put a hand on his back to steady him, so that he doesn’t tip over and bang his head on the faucet again.

Spraying his papa in the face and being met with mock pleas and sputtering keeps Lincoln entertained for the next fifteen minutes, but the water’s getting chilly, now. Bucky shuts off the tap and dries his face off on his sleeve, then lifts Lincoln out of the water to let him drip off for a few seconds. He’s limp and heavy and exhausted from all the playtime. Hopefully, he’ll take a few bites of banana or something and then pass out for half an hour, so that Bucky can clean up the mess they’ve made and throw Lincoln’s own, personal mess in the washing machine.

But once Lincoln realizes that Bucky’s not going to set him back down in the water, his face contorts with heartbreak. He wasn’t quite ready for it to be over, even if his weak smile and drooping eyelids had said otherwise.

Bucky pouts along with him, to show he understands. “I know, baby. We were having so much fun, weren’t we? And then papa ruined it.”

He holds Lincoln’s body against his shoulder even though he’s still soaking wet, then grabs a clean dish towel. It’ll do to wrap him up in for now, until he can get him into a new diaper and some clean clothes, and it’s big enough that Bucky can drape it over his head to keep him warm. He bounces him rapidly, warding off the encroaching fit. “Oh, I know, baby, I know, tell me all about it.”

Lincoln’s not too upset, though - all Bucky has to do is nibble on his fingers and pretend to bite his arms, and he’s content again. Watching the sink drain and listening to the water bubble as it goes down helps, too. And just like that, he’s tired again, and clingy, and so, so sweet. And  _ clean,  _ thank God.

Bucky can see that he’s ready for some quiet time, but it seems like a shame to waste even a moment that they have together. Time is already going by too quickly. And he has another dish towel - he can hold onto Lincoln for a little while longer while he wipes up all the water. And Lincoln certainly doesn’t mind being carried around, swung, and bounced.

He watches him curiously, cooing and humming as Bucky whistles, kicking his legs in time with the tune. He seems to be enjoying the whistling so much that Bucky’s inclined to search through his memory for the nearly-forgotten words, too.

_ “Who came to Sunday school with cherries on her lips?” _

“Mm?”

_ “Katy did, Katy didn’t, Katy did, Katy didn’t, Katy did, Katy didn’t, Katy did...” _

Maybe it’s the repetition, or the way Bucky is bouncing him along with the beat, but he now has his son’s undivided attention, and a big, wide-eyed smile.  _ Finally -  _ somebody who likes his voice.

_ “And who--” _

He lays a kiss on Lincoln’s forehead, making his lips pop:

_ “--kissed the banker’s boy, then ran away and hid? _

_ Katy did, Katy didn’t, Katy did, Katy didn’t, Katy did, Katy didn’t, Katy did!” _

Lincoln waves his arms excitedly.  _ I’ll be damned, _ Bucky thinks.  _ This song’s a real hit. _

_ “Gracious, what a scandal, every other girl would cry, _

_ She can’t hold a candle to somebody such as I, _

_ But--”  _

And he turns in a circle, bouncing him a little higher as they dance toward the living room. (He’s surprised he remembers so many of the words, but he supposes there’s nothing like the right occasion to jog a memory.)

_ “--who got the banker’s boy and fifty-thousand quid? _

_ Katy did, Katy didn’t, Katy did, Katy didn’t-- _ Fuck. _ ” _

The line ends in a startled curse.

Because there’s Steve, sitting on the couch. Watching. Listening.

And grinning like a goddamn smug bastard, asshole, piece of shit.

Bucky has never felt the blood leave his face so fast, or return there so quickly. His ears and cheeks are burning with embarrassment. Forget embarrassment. He’s completely mortified. Steve was  _ supposed _ to be at a meeting.

But he’s not. He’s sitting on the couch, where he had presumably been reading over a long memo which he’s shut for the moment, marking the page with his finger as he watches Bucky and Lincoln, dancing around like morons. And  _ singing, _ for Christ’s sake.

Lincoln -  _ that little shithead _ \- had  _ he  _ noticed Steve? He couldn’t have  _ looked _ at him? Waved? Given Bucky some kind of heads-up that he had a fucking  _ spectator? _

“Meeting?” is the only weak word Bucky can force out.

“At ten o’clock,” Steve smiles triumphantly.

“You didn’t say that part.”

_ “I  _ thought you didn’t sing to him,” Steve laughs mercilessly. “I thought you said that was  _ my _ job.”

“Don’t fuckin’ razz me, Steve,  _ please,”  _ he begs. “I’m already dying of shame.”

“And you called him  _ stinky-butt?”  _ Steve bursts. _ “ _ I can’t believe it. Pinch me. This isn’t real. Oh my God, I don’t even know you - wait, yeah I do--God.” Steve rubs his eyes, groaning happily with realization. Bucky’s just glad he’s not  _ looking _ at him, anymore. “That was  _ all _ Bucky Barnes, right there.”

“Oh, come on, Steve, we both do stupid stuff when we don’t think anybody’s watching…”

“No - no, I just mean…” Steve struggles, looking for the right way to phrase whatever feeling he’s got. “You just seem so  _ happy,  _ Buck,” he sighs, smiling more sincerely, now. “Like nothing bad ever happened to you.”

Bucky is admittedly struck by that - by how much weight Steve puts into the words, despite how breezily he says them. He hasn’t quite recovered from the fit of all-consuming humiliation, but he’s trying to laugh it off. “What,” he huffs, fighting against his instinctive self-consciousness. “The Winter Soldier can’t sing to his baby, or something?”

Steve shrugs, tossing the memo aside and rising to stretch. He saunters over, clearly pleased with himself for his successful espionage, and wraps his arms around both Bucky and Lincoln, who’s still bundled up in that damp dish towel. He tips his head to kiss Bucky’s lips, and Bucky accepts it grudgingly, because he  _ knows _ Steve’s still dying to poke more fun at him. Steve pretends for a moment that he’s not going to kiss Lincoln, too - he leans toward him, then kisses Bucky again, instead. He feints one more time, and then Lincoln babbles frustratedly and grabs at his face with both hands. Steve gives him a good kiss, right on the cheek, to apologize for all the teasing.

“Sing it again.”

“No.”

“Come on, just one more time--”

“Not for a million dollars.”

“Bucky, please.”

“Go to hell.”

**Author's Note:**

> As always, thank you for reading! Also, thank you to tredici, who laughed at me on the train, and kaylinne, who adopted me as her son, and howelleheir, who hates this fluffy shit and proofread this anyway. And weirdlet and araniaart, always. And, of course, my friend tkall, who just keeps encouraging me to trust my gut with the storytelling.


End file.
